The 11th Street Project
by sashay
Summary: Mark has a new documentary celebrating life and love... Much reminiscing of his time spend on his project and a look into how it went together.


Author's Notes: Mad props to Maggie and Nikki, my cohorts in crime. You girls rock my world. Blingity.  
  
Okay, so here's my idea for this fic. I'd love to get some other authors to write the "interviews" with the other characters, as if Mark was interviewing them. Partially because this would be enormous to write myself, and partially because I think it's a really good concept. ;)  
So, I'd love for any interested authors to email me at sashay1023@yahoo.com and let me know some ideas and if they have a specific character they'd like to write.  
  
Feedback rocks my socks off.   
  
This story (and my others) are hosted at The Boho Girls   
  
If you like RENT, try TUITION, a new musical celebrating life, love, and the wonders of Arbor Mist.   
****************  
  
The 11th Street Project  
by sashay  
  
****************  
  
An introduction, of sorts.  
"I came up with the idea about a year and a half ago," I began, juggling coffee, keys, and a small army of news people as I walked past nondescript, derelict brick buildings on Avenue B. I was on my way home from work, running late as usual. Only this time I was running late for my own interview.  
  
Finally I stopped at the door to our apartment building and the small herd of cameras ran into each other. I smiled slightly, opened the door, and proceeded up the stairs, taking a sip of coffee   
before I started back into their questions.  
  
"It all began sometime after Angel died," I said, which wasn't far from the truth. For years I'd been trying to do a documentary. "Angel had been my inspiration from the moment we met. She was what living in Alphabet City was all about,"  
  
I paused, taking another sip of coffee as I unlocked the door to the loft. A piece of yellow legal paper flapped heavily on the inside of the doorframe. Roger. I told him once to make sure to put a note where I could find it, and now he made sure they smacked me in the face every time I walked in the door.  
  
I glanced over the paper. It read, simply:  
  
M-  
  
Mimi's, Life x 2, gig.  
  
R.  
  
I shook my head. Roger shorthand. To anyone else, it would be completely meaningless. I remember last summer he had left a note simply addressed to 'M'. Mimi and I had looked at each other, completely bewildered. It was generic enough that it could have been left for either one of us. Later that night, he let us in on the method to his madness. I was "M". Mimi was "m". Apparently in Roger's world, capitalization made all the difference. Of course, most of the time his handwriting was indecipherable, so it really didn't make much of a difference.  
  
A cameraman pointed at the note over my shoulder. "Care to translate?"  
  
I shook my head. "Maybe later. Where was I?"  
  
"Angel," piped in an overly helpful, overly blonde journalism intern.  
  
"Right. So one night all of us are over here, hanging out, talking, drinking...that sort of thing. Finally, around 3, everyone else had either passed out or decided to call it a night, so only Angel and I were still awake. We started talking about life and love...the usual overly philosophical,   
alcohol-induced, 3 a.m. discussions,"  
  
I smirked slightly at the camera and noticed the blonde intern-Stephanie, I think her name was-smiling knowingly. It struck me again how similar people were and brought me right back to everything Angel had said that night.  
  
"So we're talking and I, as usual, start bemoaning the hopelessness of my work; how I have no inspiration, no ideas, and how everything I do is a complete and utter failure.  
  
"And Angel turns to me and says 'Marky'-they'd been calling me Marky all night at Maureen's insistence," I interjected.  
  
"'Marky, darling, inspiration is everywhere'. And I scoffed and laughed at her, figuring she was about to go into some bullshit about trees and rocks and nature. But Angel ignored me and kept right on going. 'Everyone has a story, Mark. Everyone. You do, I do, Roger does....the bag lady in the park, well she probably has a hell of a good one....' She trailed off, then looked up at me   
with big, sparkly, glittery, overly made up eyes. 'You focus too much on situation. Conditions. Locations. The trick is to focus on people. That's where the compelling stories are. And that's where your film is. I think you'll be surprised with what you find.' Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed off to bed for the night, since she and Collins were crashing at our place."  
  
I took a drink of my coffee and looked down at my hands. "She was one hell of a person,"  
  
Snapping back out of my reverie, I picked up the pace on the interview a bit. I'd gotten out of work early to do this, but had plans with everyone tonight and this thing was going to take long enough without me strolling lazily down memory lane.  
  
"But, despite Angel's advice, I sat on the idea and began work on my first documentary, Proof Positive. It was, in a way, a rough draft of what this project turned into. It was basically a montage of our family over the past year. Angel never lived to see it. It was later that night when we were screening the film that I realized the truth behind Angel's words. For days, I thought of nothing but this project. I made its working title 'The 11th Street Project', which was just pretentious enough to amuse me. But I didn't tell anyone about it. I remember sitting out in the living room with a notepad for days, coming up with questions for everyone, a direction for this   
film, and listening to Roger pick out things on his guitar."  
  
I looked up at everyone in the room, surprised to see them all listening intently. "I decided to interview Mimi first. Partially because she was so sick at the time, and partially because I thought she'd be the most difficult, though I don't know why."  
  
Stephanie jumped in again. "Who was the most difficult?"  
  
"Maureen. Without a doubt." I smiled at Stephanie. The girl was overeager, but she wasn't afraid to take chances. I could definitely respect that.  
  
"So. One sunny Tuesday afternoon, I went to interview Miss Mimi Marquez."  
  
*********  
end intro.   
Once again, email sashay1023@yahoo.com if you're interested in writing. Or even if you have any comments/criticism.  
  
Feedback makes me happier than Adam Pascal gnawing on RogerBear ;) 


End file.
